


If You Reach Me

by GalaxyGhosty



Category: JackSepticEye (YouTube RPF), Markiplier (YouTube RPF), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 11:53:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5665159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyGhosty/pseuds/GalaxyGhosty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. “If you're there, Mark, please, <em>please</em> hold on. If you can hear me, I'm <em>coming for you</em>. Don't give up. Don't lose hope. I <em>will</em> reach you. Hold on a little longer, okay?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Reach Me

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to "I Bet My Life" by Imagine Dragons and this story sort of came into my head. I decided to write it up a bit.
> 
> I don't know if I'll ever expand on this, but it was fun to do. I hope you guys like it, too. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Enjoy.

Tap, tap, tap.

He breathed in. He tapped the collar around his neck. He wondered what it would be like to just tear it apart, rip it off his neck and be free from it entirely. 

It wouldn't _be_ like anything. He'd be dead. If he even so much as tried to tamper with the damn thing, it would kill him. 

He rested his hands against the cool metal of the machine. Not too much longer now, and it would be purring like a kitten. 

Though, the thought made him queasy. If there was one invention he never wanted to be complete, it was this one. 

The power to destroy an entire civilization. The power to completely tear apart all that existed. The power to erase something forever. From every timeline in existence. 

His fingers twitched. He closed his eyes. 

“Taking your sweet time, aren't you, Fischbach?” 

He grit his teeth. Mark tilted his head slowly towards the man leaning in the doorway. It took a lot of energy not to spit at him. It wouldn't hit him, but it would sure as hell be satisfying. “Listen here, Ken, or whatever the hell they call you. If you want this piece of shit finished, and in the proper configuration, you'd better leave me the hell alone.”

The bearded man raised his hands in defense. “Woah there, pal. Just noticing your pace, is all. I'll leave you to it.”

“Damn right you will,” he muttered, twirling the wrench in his fingers. “Get out.”

Ken tsked softly, but Mark didn't hear him leave. Again, it took a lot of energy not to turn around and hurl the stupid tool at his stupid face. 

_God_. Being the “smartest, most innovative engineer to ever exist” really got old. Mark had tried to lay low all his life, to pretend like he just happened to be _decent_ with machinery, and not the amazing, phantasmagorical wiz that everyone knew he was. 

The thing was, Mark had...a gift. Though he hesitated to call it that. It was more like an insane genetic deficiency, to him at least, but he could...sort of be in tune with machines. He could fix them like no tomorrow. He could almost _become_ one, if he wasn't careful. 

He just...understood them. Like they were alive. As though they were part of him. 

That's how he ended up in the forsaken situation to begin with. People had found out. People wanted him to create the most dangerous weapon known to man. And thanks to the stupid collar around his neck, he had no choice. Only the Organization leader had the key to it, and no amount of using his “gift” could help him get it off, no matter how hard he tried.

Inwardly, Mark wondered how he was going to get out of this situation. How he was going to stop it. There was no way he could let the machine fall into Cry's hands. Not like he had. Mark knew he had to stop work on it, or at least fool-proof it. He considered implementing some sort of safety feature, some sort of kill switch, but he didn't know how to get it in without it being seen. They'd kill him.

Though, they would likely kill him after all of this was over anyway. It wasn't like that mattered. 

As if they wanted anyone around with the ability to dismantle the machine.

Mark let out a soft sigh. He just wished he could say goodbye.

“Hey, pal,” Ken said, and Mark hated how he called him that. Granted, he called _everyone_ that, but it annoyed him. He wasn't anyone's _pal_. Certainly not in this hellhole. “Come with me, would ya?” 

“Do you want this done or not?” he spat, not taking his eyes off his work. 

Steam hissed, popping a few bolts out of the siding, and immediately he ceased contact with the machine. He curled his fingers into fists, reprimanding himself for not putting his gloves on. Mark glanced around for them, saw them halfway across the room, and settled for just trying to breathe, settling his nerves.

“Cry wants to talk to you,” Ken explained, seemingly unfazed by his display. “So come on.” 

Dropping the wrench, he wiped his hands on his pants and slowly got to his feet. Mark approached the other man, and truthfully he could likely kill the guy with no sweat, but he didn't want to risk it. Not yet. Not until he was desperate enough for murder. 

Ken led him down a long hallway, one he was all used to seeing. He'd been down it so many times that he pretty much memorized every single ugly chip and crevice along the wall. 

Eventually, they turned down another hallway and into one of the conference rooms. The place was about as dull and dusty as the rest of the place, the quiet hiss of steam and gears clanking in a conjunction.

“Hey, there's our favorite engineer,” the soft hum of Cry's voice greeted him. He saw the masked man and scowled at him and he murmured. “Aw, come on. Don't be like that.”

“What do you want?” Mark asked, crossing his arms. “I want to get back to the machine.”

Cry mumbled something under his breath, so Mark couldn't quite make it out, but he could tell it was something derogatory. Something about Cry unnerved him—it was probably the blank white mask. No one had ever seen his face. No one knew who he really was. Cry wasn't even his real name.

“Anyway. I wanted to ask you something. Does anyone know about your...power?” Cry tilted his head.

_Power_. In a way, Mark hated his gift being referred to as a power. It made him feel like a tool, a weapon of sorts. Like he wasn't a man, only something to be used. Then again, he supposed in all honesty, he was.

“Why?”

“Just answer it.”

Mark knew a handful of people. About five people knew of his gift. His mother, his brother, Bob, Wade, and...

Jack. 

The baker boy. The light of his life. The only person he'd actually told of his power, not someone who _found_ out. He didn't even care. He was just happy Mark trusted him. The boy he shared his first kiss with. The keeper of his heart.

Jack...

“My family,” Mark said, leaving it at that. Just in case. A precaution. “That's about it. Why?”

Cry gestured to the projector. That's where the clanking was coming from. The walls, too, no doubt, but mostly the rickety old projector. It seemed to be broadcasting something, though, something fuzzy, unclear...a live feed? 

“What is this?” Mark demanded, and Cry drummed his fingers on the desk.

“I was gonna ask you the same question,” he said. “There's been a whole mob of people for days now, advocating for your freedom. Seems like you weren't the nobody we hoped you were.” 

Mark swallowed. How? Who were all these people? “How do they even know I've been taken?” 

“That's the thing,” Cry said. “There's a rebellion leader. No luck on finding his real name. In all our databases, not a trace of him will pull up. Not to mention he's constantly hidden behind a cowl. There's rumors that only _he_ knows who he is. No one else. Not even the people following him. Calls himself Septic Sam.” 

“I'm not familiar,” Mark mumbled. “Is this a live feed?” 

“This one? Yes. It's not the first, though,” Cry hummed. He sounded nonchalant, but the tenseness in his shoulders told a different story. “He's rallying them, now. Finishing up his spiel, I imagine. Listen.”

Mark was all too familiar with the drones of the Organization, the little cameras that stalked everyone and everything that the Organization needed to keep up with. They kept a close eye on the inner city—where Mark lived. It zoomed in on the hooded face of Septic Sam, no distinguishable features visible. He stood on the rafters, high above the other people, but seemingly not _above_ them. Like he was one of them. He was. 

“We will _not_ let the Organization scare us any longer! Let's take back our city once and for all!” 

Everyone let out a roar of applause in response to the words. It was overwhelming, seeing the city ban together. Never had they been able to before. Perhaps that had been the Organization's plan. They never allowed them the opportunity to ban together. Mark supposed that since being preoccupied with him, they'd gotten slack. So all of this? It felt like a miracle. The Organization's iron rule was finally weakening. 

Septic Sam stood rigid, but Mark could sense some sort of pride in him, some sort of hope. It was contagious, even though he wasn't there. The words were simple, and average, but somehow they made him hope, too. That there was hope for the city. For everyone. 

For him. 

Suddenly, Septic Sam swirled on the camera. Pulling down his hood, he looked Cry dead in the eye. It was chilling.

Mark's heart stopped in his chest.

_Those eyes..._

“I know you're watching,” Jack snarled. “And I _know_ you have him. But you bet your ass I'm coming for him. And there will be hell to pay if I don't find him.”

Jack pulled a gun from his belt, aiming it directly at the lens. His gaze softened a fraction. “If you're there, Mark, please, _please_ hold on. If you can hear me, I'm _coming for you_. Don't give up. Don't lose hope. I _will_ reach you. Hold on a little longer, okay?” 

Then his eyes hardened again. He fired. The camera fizzed, and Cry cursed. 

“Take him back,” Cry hissed at Ken, and wordlessly the man motioned for Mark to come with him. “Get him out of here. _Now_.” 

Fighting back tears, Mark felt his heart swell in his chest, as he slowly turned on his heel.

Hope was taking root. Jack was coming, and Jack would reach him soon.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos are always appreciated! 
> 
> Hit me up on Tumblr at galaxyghosty.tumblr.com!


End file.
